


Being Human Drabbles

by dreamsofspike



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: A collection of my drabbles for the pairing George/Mitchell from Being Human.Warnings: violence, power play





	1. It's Been Days Now

It's been days now since they've spoken.  
  
It's getting harder to hide what he knows -- what he saw -- and the irrevocable way in which it's changed the way he sees his friend.  
  
Mitchell must have been struggling for weeks... must have been desperate with the strain and tension of trying to hold back his natural tendencies... but George hadn't caught on, hadn't realized that anything was wrong.  
  
Maybe if he had, he could have helped him.  
  
As it was, Mitchell hadn't noticed George making his way down the alley, taking the same route they both usually took home from work. He had been too distracted by the girl on whom he was feeding.  
  
George had stood there, stunned and horrified... and something else that he couldn't quite define... by what he was seeing; and just when he had decided that he had to do something, had to get Mitchell's attention and stop him before he killed that girl...  
  
... Mitchell stopped on his own.  
  
"I-I'm sorry..."  
  
He stammered, dark eyes wide and trapped as he backed away from the pale, trembling girl, her fingers shaking over the bloodied spot on her throat as she sank down against the wall of the alley.   
  
Mitchell turned and ran, never noticing George where he stood against the other wall -- and George somehow managed to shake himself out of his stupor enough to help the shell-shocked girl to her feet and get her out of the alley and to the hospital.  
  
She lived, and didn't seem to remember much about the man who had attacked her on her way home that night.  
  
No harm done, really.  
  
But George couldn't get it out of his head.  
  
It had been days since it had happened, but George couldn't bring himself to face his friend -- not knowing what he knew now.  
  
He had always known what Mitchell was, and the horror and violence and chilling bloodlust of that moment in the alley was nothing more than he had expected.  
  
What he hadn't expected was to find the whole thing so bloody hot.  
  
The dark intensity of the hunger in Mitchell's eyes -- the desperation of need, the way he had embraced the girl as a lover even as he drained her of the very essence of her life...  
  
He tried to keep the images from returning to his mind, unbidden, but they kept coming, filling his head with dark desires he knew were better left alone. Despite his best efforts, however, George knew.  
  
He would never see his friend in the same way again.


	2. Where Did You Get Those Injuries?

"What happened to your face, Mitchell? Are you all right?"  
  
The concern in his friend's voice tears at his heart, and Mitchell forces himself to resist the instinctive impulse to back away as George moves swiftly toward him, a worried frown creasing his brow.  
  
After all... it wasn't George's fault.  
  
Mitchell forces a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, just had a bit of a scrape with another vamp on the way home last night, that's all. Nothing I couldn't handle."   
  
George's frown deepens, and Mitchell can tell he's already blaming himself.  
  
"If it had been any other night, I'd have been walking home _with_ you, and..."  
  
"And we'd both have been attacked?" There was gentle mockery in Mitchell's voice. "Yes, I can see your point, because that'd have been so much better."  
  
"... and maybe they wouldn't have bothered," George finished his statement, not at all amused. His expression was solemn and troubled as he sank down to sit against the wall with a heavy sigh. "I just... wish I could have been there..."  
  
Mitchell is silent.  
  
He won't tell George that he _was_ there... that there was no other vampire at all... that Mitchell was lucky to escape with his life...  
  
And that he's _extremely_ lucky, for once, to be a vampire and therefore immune to the usual side-effects of a werewolf's scratch.  
  
It had been a dangerously close call -- and one that George would never know about.  
  
He was killing himself with guilt already for _not_ being there; he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he found out that he _had_ been there, after all.


	3. Soaked to the Skin

When George isn't back by noon the day following the full moon, Mitchell and Annie begin to worry.  
  
It's a Saturday, and there's no work for either of them, and it's been raining hard all morning. George should have been home a couple of hours after dawn at the latest -- but he's not.  
  
Mitchell takes his car and drives out to the edge of the woods where George often hides, to the particular spot where he usually leaves clothes to wear in the morning. He then gets out and walks into the trees, calling for his friend.  
  
"George? Are you there?"  
  
There's no answer, and no clothes stashed in George's usual hiding place, so Mitchell stops for a moment, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, using his enhanced senses to try to tell if George has been here recently.  
  
He has.  
  
Mitchell follows the scent to a tiny patch of underbrush, where he finds George naked and shivering in the damp.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he exclaims in dismay as he reached down to help George to his feet. "It's freezing out here! Where are your clothes?"  
  
"I don't know," George admits miserably. "Some tramp must have taken 'em during the night."  
  
"Come on, I've got you," Mitchell murmurs, wrapping a warming, steadying arm around George's trembling form as he helps him make his way toward the car. He smiles gently, adding, "You're giving new meaning to the phrase, 'soaked to the skin', aren't you?"  
  
George just shoots him a death glare and says nothing.  
  
At the car, Mitchell takes a blanket from the trunk and gives it to George to cover up with, but five minutes into the drive, George is still shivering. Mitchell frowns with concern and takes one end of the blanket, tugging it over himself as well as George, positioning it so that he can continue to drive.  
  
"Hey!" George protests. "Give it!"  
  
"I'm trying to help you stay warm, genius."   
  
Mitchell rolls his eyes as he tugs lightly on the blanket, silently encouraging George to move closer.   
  
"Come on, I don't bite. _You._ "  
  
Reluctantly George complies, and he _does_ feel a bit warmer, and it's awfully nice to feel sheltered and safe and rescued... and it's not until they've reached the house that he remembers that Mitchell has no body heat of his own to offer.


	4. Bad Days

Their roles are very well defined, and clear to anyone who knows them at all.  
  
Mitchell has the more dominant personality, while George is content to simply let him take charge, take the lead in this unconventional relationship that's developed between them.  
  
But there are days when all that changes.  
  
There are days when George comes home angry and frustrated and on the verge of furious tears -- and struggling to hold it all back. He tries to hold it together for the sake of the others, tries not to bother them with his issues.  
  
But Mitchell knows him too well.  
  
George is much more comfortable with allowing Mitchell to take him than with the idea of taking Mitchell himself.  
  
"I don't want to hurt you," he insists, with that gentle softness in his voice that only makes Mitchell love him more.  
  
So Mitchell finds another way to let George take the lead on those occasional dark nights, when his entire life feels like it's out of control.  
  
It feels good to let go for a little while, to lie back and let George control their pace, covering his skin with bites that hurt _just enough_ while driving down onto him with enough force to make Mitchell hiss back a groan of mingled pain and pleasure.  
  
He holds it back -- because George would stop if he thought he was hurting him.  
  
But Mitchell craves the pain.  
  
George doesn't know it -- but Mitchell lives for George's bad days.


	5. Hugs

There's no way that Annie can leave without knowing that Mitchell's all right.   
  
Then, once they get him to the hospital, things just begin moving so quickly that there's no time to recover, no time to come to terms with all that's going on, and all it means to them.  
  
Once it's all over, they sit in the kitchen together, quietly discussing their victory, and what it might mean for them. Annie is optimistic, vocally wondering about what might be next for her, now that she's allowed death's door to pass her by. The other's seem so proud of her for doing something no one's done before, and she accepts that, basking in their praise.  
  
Later, they go to work -- and she's alone in the empty house.  
  
The house she may always be bound to.  
  
George comes home to find Annie sitting on the floor against the wall, sniffling and swiping at her eyes with her sleeve. She glances up at him, and her pretty dark eyes are glistening with tears.  
  
There's been bad blood between them in the past.  
  
George didn't always want her here.  
  
Now, he's so grateful that she stayed -- and feels guilty for that gratitude.  
  
"I-it... it still feels like a _loss_ ," she confesses helplessly as he slowly approaches her. "I think I'm... _grieving_ my own _death_!"  
  
George says nothing as he goes to her, kneeling beside her and wrapping his arms around her. They're silent for a long time, her crying soundlessly, and him just holding her. Finally, she regains control enough to whisper hoarsely.  
  
"At least... at least now I can feel your arms around me."


	6. Time to Say Goodbye

"Go, _now_!"   
  
George shouts in panic as Annie lingers, looking back and forth between the strange new door in the wall, and her wounded, probably dying, friend.  
  
"You don't know when you'll have another chance! I can take care of him... just _go_!"  
  
Annie knows that he's right, that there's nothing she can do for Mitchell that George can't do on his own. She also knows that once she steps through that door, it's unlikely that any of this will matter to her anymore.   
  
If it's heaven beyond the door, she's always heard that you don't remember the pains of your earthly life there. She couldn't be blissfully happy if she remembered that her friends were in danger.  
  
If it's some kind of hell that awaits her... well... she supposes she'd have bigger worries once she steps through the door.  
  
"Annie..." George's voice is trembling with affection and concern, discernible amidst his panic as he holds the phone, ready to dial the hospital. "You have to go." He pauses, his voice soft, barely over a whisper, as he gently insists, "It's time to say goodbye."  
  
Annie gives one last longing look at the door before letting out a shaky sigh, her decision already made. She looks back at him with grim resignation in her dark eyes.  
  
"I can't."


	7. House-Warming (George/Mitchell)

“Mitchell… the furnace must be broken. It’s freezing in here.”  
  
“Is it? I’m sorry, I hadn’t noticed. It’s not as if it makes that much difference to me, you know?”  
  
“Yeah. But… who do you call to fix the heat when you’ve just finished threatening the life of your landlord?”  
  
“Depends…”  
  
“On what?”  
  
*snickers* “On how convincing you were with the threatening?”  
  
“Oh, that’s nice. ‘Owen, we know you’re a murdering monster, but please kindly come and fix the heat, or we’ll torture you to death like we said before’?”  
  
“…”  
  
*considers* “Actually… that sounds as if it just might work.”   
  
“I’ll ring him up. I sound scarier.”


	8. I Hate Flying

“George… you’re actually trembling. Relax! We’re barely off the ground.”  
  
“Not barely enough. I hate flying.”  
  
“It’s not that bad, George. This is a big plane, and the flight’s less than an hour long. You’ll be perfectly safe.”  
  
“Bloody… What was that?! Was that… just turbulence, maybe? What…”  
  
“Easy, George… it’s too soon for turbulence. Take-off’s usually a bit rough…”  
  
“What’s turbulence, then? It’s… worse?”  
  
“Turbulence is what happens right before the main engines go out and we plummet into the sea to our deaths.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“Kidding, George. Kidding.”


	9. Belt

“So… that’s what you’re wearing, then?”  
  
“What’s wrong with it?”  
  
“Nothing, George. I’m sure Nina won’t care what you’re wearing…”  
  
“And if you’re lucky you won’t be wearing it long.”  
  
*snickers*  
  
“Oh, stop! It’s not like that with Nina and I! I’ve already told you…”  
  
“God, we know. *rolls her eyes* It’s sweeter, lovelier, a life-affirming event that only seems like an instinctive physical and chemical reaction to someone else’s physical and chemical reactions.”  
  
“Are you going to help me or not?”  
  
“Fine. What else do you need to know?”  
  
“This belt or that one?”  
  
“…”  
  
“…”  
  
“Are we choosing based on looks, or… spanking potential?”


	10. Unwrapped

"George... no. Just... no."  
  
"What's wrong with it?" There was a note of hopeless defeat in George's voice as he looked down forlornly at the way-too-colorful shirt he was wearing. "It's... festive."  
  
Annie gave him a look, a single brow raised. "It's not Christmas, George. Come on, let me help you..."  
  
George flinched slightly in shock as her cold hand closed around his wrist and tugged him excitedly toward the stairs. After a mere instant, however, he recovered and allowed her to lead him into his room, where she immediately began ransacking his closet.  
  
"Too drab... too old... why do you even _own_ this, George?"  
  
"I like it..." He couldn't help sounding a little defensive as she scornfully tossed his favorite well-worn plaid shirt onto the floor behind her. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Here. Try this." Annie emerged from the closet with her choices in hand. "Much better."  
  
Without hesitation, she stood in front of him and began unbuttoning the bright red shirt he was already wearing. Her voice lowered, accidentally soft and intimate as she frowned in concentration.  
  
"Honestly, George, you look like a bloody Christmas present!"  
  
George laughed softly, shaking his head as he watched her work. "I'd be lost without you, Annie. What would we do without you?"  
  
She smiled warmly, meeting his eyes for a moment... and then freezing at the intensity of his gaze. Her smile faded slightly, and she swallowed hard, stepping back a bit self-consciously and running nervous, trembling fingers through her hair.  
  
"Look at me," she muttered, self-effacing. "Like you can't undress yourself." She paused in the doorway, a teasing grin on her face breaking the awkward tension. "Besides... it's not nice to unwrap someone else's presents."


	11. Unavoidable

It was unavoidable, really.  
  
No one else could really understand the things they went through everyday. No one else knew what it was like to have a monster inside. Annie knew them both better than most, but even she was purely a victim of her circumstances. She didn't know what it was like to be responsible for the suffering of someone else because of the secret darkness they carried.  
  
The tension kept rising between them, along with the closeness and trust, as they saw each other through one emergency, one close call after another -- until finally, it was too much to hold back anymore.  
  
Eventually, it had to happen.  
  
In the wake of their release, George and Mitchell lay there, comfortably silent, trying to decide how they were going to break it to Annie.  
  
They should have guessed that she already knew.


	12. Hangover

"I'll tell you, I won't miss this," Annie declared, her voice seeming far too loud, as was the clinking of the tea kettle against the cups on the tray as she poured them some steaming hot tea. "It's nice to know I'll never have to deal with the hangover from hell again."  
  
"Annie, please..." George groaned, rolling over in the bed and pulling the blankets over his head.  
  
" _What_?" She sounded mildly put out, her full lower lip jutting out in an offended pout.   
  
"Stop _talking_ ," Mitchell whined, his face twisted into a pained grimace. He looked up after a moment, something akin to sympathy showing through the bleary exhaustion in his eyes. "We love you, Annie, but it _hurts_."  
  
"Fine," she sighed, flouncing a bit as she rose from the edge of the bed. "But when you two are feeling human again, we're _going_ to have a talk! I need to know how this happened."  
  
"How we ended up so drunk that we'd rather be dead this morning?" George grumbled.  
  
"No." Annie smiled as she stopped in the doorway. "How you ended up undressed and _in the same bed_ this morning."  
  
She waited in silence as realization struck them, and they looked up slowly to meet each other's wide, stunned eyes.  
  
"Yeah." She nodded with a large, too-bright smile at their moment of clarity before heading down the hall. "Talk later, boys."


	13. Forever

She thought they'd be together forever.  
  
He told her loved her, and that he wanted to take care of her and give her everything she needed and _be_ everything to her, for the rest of her life.  
  
What he didn't tell her was that "the rest of her life" would be so brief.  
  
What he couldn't have known was that her death was not the end.  
  
She knew now what he'd done to her, knew better than to waste another moment on loving him. He'd hurt her and ultimately killed her, and didn't deserve her devotion at all. She knew that, now that she's confronted him and gotten him to confess, she should forget about him and try to get on with her life.  
  
Problem is... forever actually _meant_ something to Annie.  
  
When she said she loved him -- she meant it.  
  
Her heart aches as she thinks about the past... and just how long forever can be.


	14. Vampire Porn

"Hey, Mitchell. How was your...?"  
  
*scrambling madly*  
  
"Mitchell? What are you doing?"  
  
"No, don't..."  
  
"Let me see that..."  
  
"Give me back my laptop!"  
  
"No! What... what _is_ this?"  
  
"It's... nothing. I just wanted to..."  
  
"Is this... _vampire porn_?"  
  
"No! Well, yeah. But... I'm not looking it up for the reasons you think..."  
  
"... What... other reasons... are there?"  
  
"I just wanted to see how people view us... vampires, I mean..."  
  
"I think mostly they view them as... imaginary fantasy creatures like these. I don't think public image is something you need to worry about, when the majority of the public _doesn't know you exist_."  
  
"Right. Yeah. That makes sense."  
  
"Mitchell?"  
  
"Y-yeah?"  
  
"Why were you _really_ looking at that site?"  
  
*head on empty desk* *groans* "Why do you think? Just let me hide behind my bloody laptop, please?"  
  
"Fine. But Mitchell?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Can you... _not_ do that... at _my_ desk?"


	15. Bad Enough

When he first became aware of the slightest inkling of feelings for his flatmate, George tried to ignore it. It had to be nothing more than a reaction to having almost no one else he could relate to. He tried not to think about why this strange attraction seemed to be forming to _Mitchell_ instead of toward Annie, who was certainly pleasant enough to look at.  
  
When Mitchell started returning his glances, George tried even harder -- but it was hard when his heightened werewolf senses told him of Mitchell's increased arousal every time he entered the same room as him. George began to avoid his friend, wondering anxiously if Mitchell possessed some instinct like George's, that betrayed their mutual attraction.  
  
Eventually -- Mitchell cornered him and pressed the issue.  
  
George was a little dazed when Mitchell pulled back from the surprise kiss, smiling a little sheepishly, as if just remembering that the object of his affections actually still needed to breathe. Mitchell's smile faded slightly, his dark eyes solemn and anxious, and he bit the side of his lip uncertainly as he waited for George's reaction.  
  
It only took him a moment to make his decision.  
  
"Great," he groaned, rolling his eyes -- but the mockery in his tone was gentle and accepting. "Now I'm a werewolf -- _and_ a fairy!"


	16. The Walls Have Ears

They lie in bed together, enjoying a lazy Saturday morning, talking quietly as the pleasantly empty hours drag on. There's a lot that only the two of them can understand -- a lot of emotions and issues that no one else could really relate to.  
  
And they've only just found each other.  
  
Their soft conversation is interspersed with lazy, tender kisses and unhurried coupling, as they simply enjoy getting to know each other better. As the clock strikes noon, Mitchell rolls over and lies on his back, contentedly looking up at the clock across the room.  
  
His smile fades abruptly, his eyes widening with alarm -- then his face crinkles up with repressed laughter.  
  
"George... I think Annie's feeling a little left out. Or possibly just curious."  
  
"Why would you say that?"   
  
George seems confused, rolling over onto his stomach to meet Mitchell's eyes. Mitchell nods toward the spot on the wall that's caught his attention, and George follows his gaze.   
  
"Because last time I checked... that wall didn't _literally_ have ears."


	17. Smell

He's aware that she's in the patient room as he passes the door, without glancing in. His sensitive sense of smell picks up her scent easily -- and something deep and primal within him finds it intoxicatingly alluring.   
  
He waits outside the door until she comes out, thinking that perhaps he'll surprise her.  
  
She walks out of the room and straight to him, smiling -- completely unsurprised.  
  
"There you are. Knew you were out here."  
  
He frowns, head tilted in a puzzled expression. "How?"  
  
Her smile fades only slightly, a faint frown creasing her brow, though she still seems quite untroubled by the question.  
  
"You know... I don't know," she admits softly, giving him a careless shrug.  
  
But George's careless mood fades in an instant, images filling his mind of a day less than a week earlier, when he was between his two states of being -- but still in control enough for his subconscious to store the memory.  
  
He no longer feels like finding an empty room and fooling around a bit -- because suddenly, he knows _exactly_ why she could find him as easily as he found her.


	18. Bogeyman

"Mitchell!"   
  
George's voice has never sounded so shrill, and Mitchell comes running down the stairs, ready to face whatever threat might be intruding upon their peaceful domesticity.  
  
"What is it?" he anxiously asks as he reaches where George is standing, in front of the broom closet. He instinctively places a reassuring hand on George's arm, giving him a concerned look. "What's the matter?"  
  
"I heard something..." George whispers, as if whatever he heard might be listening. "It was coming from the closet!"  
  
Mitchell frowns, thinking. It can't be a vampire; it would have needed to be invited. If it were another werewolf, George would know it. Annie's nowhere in sight, and it's possible she's playing a prank -- but he's fairly certain that the genuine panic in George's voice would have led her to call a halt to it.  
  
"You think it might be a rat or something?" he suggests.  
  
"No. I'd smell it," George insists. "And I don't smell anything."  
  
"Maybe it's something else -- something we've never seen before..."  
  
George let out a nearly manic laugh of terror, wide eyes staring at the closed closet door. "I'm a werewolf living with a vampire and a ghost, and you're telling me now we have a _bogeyman_?"  
  
"Well, I don't know _what_ it is, do I?" Mitchell reminds him, irritated when he realizes that now _he's_ whispering, too. "Maybe we should just... open the door, and..."  
  
"No!"   
  
George yelps as Mitchell reaches for the door, reaching out to clutch his arm in a decidedly girlish way. Mitchell doesn't mock him. At this point he can't be sure he wouldn't be doing the same thing if their positions were reversed.  
  
Still, he summons all his courage and opens the door.  
  
A chilling, wailing moan echoes from the tiny room, accompanied by a gust of frozen wind -- and both of them flee like a pair of children, scrambling up the stairs and into the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind them.  
  
Annie is waiting for them, leaning idly in the bathroom doorway. She smirks at their panic, shaking her head, arms crossed over her chest.  
  
"You too are really _far_ too easy, you know that?"


	19. Lives

In these existences they lead, they are forced to think a lot about death.  
  
After all -- they've both already experienced their own.  
  
In these moments alone in the darkness, however, they can pretend for a few minutes like the outside darkness doesn't touch them. They can lose themselves in each other and soar above all the terror and uncertainty and the things that lurk in the dark waiting for them to slip up so they can catch them.  
  
In these private moments together, death can't touch them.  
  
In these moments... they both feel as if their lives are only just beginning.


	20. Crush

She noticed him long before he ever spoke to her.  
  
He was the last of her childhood crushes -- the boy she started dating in her last year of secondary school -- and the young man who talked her out of university and into a young marriage.  
  
Or at least... that was how it was supposed to happen.  
  
Now, she grieves not only for the relationship she thought they had -- but for all the things he cost her, things she'll never get back.  
  
A ghost can't attend university.  
  
A ghost can't have a baby.  
  
A ghost can't get accepted into medical school.  
  
A ghost can't practice medicine, or have a family, or fulfill any of the countless dreams that filled her heart and mind in the months before she met him.  
  
He didn't only take her life from her.  
  
He took from her everything she might have been.


	21. First Time

Things have reached a feverish pace -- hands and mouths and trembling limbs racing each other beneath the covers to get the other disrobed first. There's a momentary struggle for mastery that can only end one way.  
  
"Wait!" George whispers, his voice trembling, as Mitchell pins him to the mattress. "Wait... just... wait..."  
  
"What's the matter?"   
  
The genuine concern and patience in Mitchell's dark eyes is infinitely reassuring -- but George can't quite quell his fears completely. He swallows hard, seeking the courage to speak his rather embarrassing confession.  
  
"Nothing, it's just... I've... I've never..."  
  
Mitchell's eyes widen as George's voice trails off. "Never _what_?" he asks i hushed wonder.  
  
"Never... this..." George stammers, flustered and embarrassed. "Never... with... another man..."  
  
"Oh." Mitchell's shoulders relax with relief, and he lets out a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head.  
  
"What'd you _think_ I meant?" George demanded, deeply offended. "What, you thought I meant... I'm not a bloody _virgin_!"  
  
"Well... you don't exactly seem _overly_ experienced. And, in a way..."  
  
Mitchell's teasing words are cut off in a gasp of shocked sensation as George reaches between them to palm his erection, a smug grin beginning to form on his face. There's a note of triumph in George's voice as he murmurs suggestively.  
  
"I'll show _you_ who's experienced..."


	22. Bitch

"I already told you, you'd best leave. He doesn't want to talk to you."  
  
Annie's voice is like steel, her eyes narrowed as she stands in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. Lauren smirks at her, a challenge in her eyes as she takes a step back to give Annie an assessing up-and-down look.  
  
"And you're going to stop me, how, exactly? I can walk right through you if I like..." To prove her point, Lauren shoves past Lauren into the room, taking advantage of the invitation Mitchell gave her months ago.  
  
Annie decides that she's going to be taking that up with him very soon.  
  
She's had enough.  
  
With a mere thought, she's created a swirling vortex of wailing winds that fills the living room, somehow managing to attack Lauren from all sides without touching the various valuables that decorate the house. Lauren lets out a surprised cry of protest, raising her hands in defense against a force she can't fight.  
  
With a mere flick of her wrist, Annie sends the vampire stumbling out the door again, where she tumbles to an off-balance heap on the sidewalk.  
  
Annie smiles down at her calmly from the doorway. "Who's going to go through who, now, love?" she asks, shaking her head as if confused.  
  
Lauren staggers to her feet, glaring balefully at the unexpected barrier between her and the object of her obsession, muttering under her breath as she makes her way, defeated and dejected, down the street.  
  
"Bitch."


	23. Sting

Mitchell hurriedly pulls on his coat as he rushes for the door. There's been some kind of an emergency -- some kind of a vampire attack at the hospital, from what George can gather. George follows him down the stairs, grabbing his own jacket and heading toward the door.  
  
Mitchell turns and stops him, a troubled frown creasing his brow as he shakes his head. "No, stay here," he commands sharply. "I'll do better at dealing with this if I don't have to worry about making sure you're okay."  
  
George stands frozen in the doorway as Mitchell disappears into the darkness. He can't pretend that the words don't sting. He nurses his wounds in petulant silence for a few moments -- dismissed and disregarded as unnecessary in the battle Mitchell's about to fight -- before making a decision.  
  
If something happens to Mitchell, and he's not there, he'll never forgive himself.  
  
Mitchell will have his help, whether he wants it or not.  
  
He finds Mitchell surrounded by a half dozen other vampires -- wounded and quickly weakening. George is only able to create a distraction, throwing himself into the midst of the fray haphazardly -- but it's enough. Mitchell regains the upper hand, and the two of them head home. Mitchell's subdued and quiet, and finally... apologetic.  
  
And the sting in George's heart fades away into the glow of vindication.


	24. Desperation

He's barely through the door when she's on him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and throwing him against the wall with force far greater than her natural strength would have allowed. He freezes for just a moment before returning her kiss, putting his arms around her and drawing her close.  
  
Her hunger does not seem to be abated in the slightest, but rather to build. Mitchell opens his eyes in alarm when he hears a tumult of wind building around them, vases and knick knacks shattering as if burst by the same internal force that's driving Annie.  
  
He pushes her back a little, disturbed by how difficult it is, whispering under his breath.  
  
"Wait... Annie, wait, wait..."  
  
"Can't," she mutters, her voice trembling, and he notices that tears streak her face. "Need you."  
  
With both hands on her shoulders he holds her back with an extreme effort, forcing her to meet his eyes. Her lips are trembling, her eyes red-rimmed.  
  
"Owen was here today... wasn't he?" Mitchell gently whispers.  
  
For a moment he's almost afraid of her, as something dark and smoldering appears in her eyes, and he can see the hurt and anger and resentment building within her -- but then that something breaks, and her shoulders are shaking, her head is bowed, and she's leaning into the shelter of his arms.  
  
"Shhh," he whispers in her ear. "It's all right, love. It's all right..."


	25. All the Things I Left Behind

Sometimes George is depressed.  
  
He comes home quiet, sits in front of the television without talking for a while, or maybe goes for a walk alone. He needs the solitude... needs to think...  
  
... needs to mourn.  
  
There were a lot of things he lost when his life as he knew it ended. His family... his friends... his old job, apartment... his old _life_.   
  
He sits on the bank of the creek in the middle of the woods, staring out at the moonlight reflected on the water, counting the days until that moon will turn against him again. He maybe cries a little, coming to terms again with his many losses, before finally getting up and going home.  
  
Mitchell is waiting for him, and takes him into his arms without a word. He's especially giving these nights, giving himself over to George without reservation -- reminding him that for all he's lost, he's also gained some things.  
  
These nights... George decides that maybe, just maybe... it's actually worth the trade.


	26. Irrational

George knows the moment he walks in the door that something's not right.   
  
He can hear things slamming around in the kitchen, and his first assumption is that Annie's having her monthly again -- until he steps through the doorway and sees that Annie is nowhere in sight, and there's actually a pair of physical hands doing the slamming.  
  
As he watches, Mitchell slams the cupboard shut, spinning around, a curse muttered under his breath -- and then aborted when he sees George standing there, staring. Mitchell's face flushes with shame, and he turns away again.  
  
"You all right?" George keeps his tone even and mild, already knowing the answer, but seeking the reason.  
  
"Fine," Mitchell snaps.  
  
"Right." George is unconvinced. "Anything I can do to...?"  
  
"You can get out of my face!"   
  
Mitchell snarls, getting _into_ George's face to say so. George flinches slightly, backing off and giving Mitchell his space for the rest of the night. He's fairly certain he knows what's wrong.  
  
Every now and then, there's a particularly gory incident at the hospital -- and on those days, Mitchell's cravings seem to be worse than usual. His temper gets shorter and more volatile as he fights his desire for blood, struggling for control.  
  
George knows better than to get in the way of a jonesing, irritable and irrational vampire in the throes of bloodlust withdrawal.


	27. Fear Manifestation

There's no outward sign to betray Mitchell's secret -- but George doesn't need one.  
  
He watches for any sign -- a slight flinch, an intake of breath -- as he slips up behind Mitchell and places a gentle hand on his shoulder; but there is none. Mitchell remains perfectly still, staring out the window at nothing.  
  
"What is it, Mitchell?" George asks softly. "What's the matter?"  
  
Mitchell looks up at him, and there's something lost in his eyes -- but it's barely visible behind his bright, nearly natural smile. He shakes his head, pure innocence.  
  
"Nothing. What do you mean?"  
  
"Mitchell..." George lowers his voice, glancing around for any signs that Annie might be listening before meeting his friend's eyes again. "... I can tell. I can... can _smell_ it."  
  
Mitchell looks away, swallowing hard, one trembling hand rising to cover his face as he draws in a sharp breath. There's no sense hiding these signs anymore if George already knows.  
  
"What are you afraid of?" George presses gently.  
  
Mitchell's voice is nearly a sob as he confesses, "Myself. George... I've done something... something awful. I don't think I can... can control it..."  
  
George sits down beside him, putting a supportive arm around him and listening as Mitchell confesses his crime against the girl he thought might be the one -- Lauren. George is worried, but relieved that Mitchell opened up to him.  
  
And he wouldn't have, if George hadn't been able to tell that something was wrong.  
  
George begins to think that maybe there's an upside to this curse of his.


	28. Sacrifice

She stares at the place where the door was, only a day or two ago. It's gone now -- along with possibly her one and only chance at closure.  
  
She doesn't know what lies ahead of her now, what challenges and troubles might await her. She knew when she made her decision to go with George and Mitchell to the hospital that she might be sacrificing her one and only opportunity.  
  
And now, it doesn't matter.  
  
It's done -- and she might never know what she gave up.  
  
She hears another, less ethereal door open, and turns toward the entryway with a smile as she hears the boys enter, cheerful and laughing and shivering as they come in out of the cold.  
  
It was a sacrifice, yes, she thinks as she takes in Mitchell's brilliant smile -- but it was a sacrifice that was worth every penny of the price.


	29. Baby Dragon

"What've you got there?"   
  
Mitchell looks up with interest as George comes in the door, cradling something in front of him in his cupped hands. George glances up at him before looking down at his hands again, shrugging slightly.  
  
"Don't know. Just... found it lying outside the door."  
  
Mitchell gets up and meets him in the entry, looking down at his cupped hands to see a white and grey speckled egg, about the size of an ostrich egg.   
  
"What kind of egg _is_ that?" Mitchell wonders aloud. "I've never seen anything like it."  
  
"Me either." George shakes his head. "But it's pretty. Might make a nice conversation piece."  
  
It doesn't occur to either of them that whatever's in the egg might still be alive -- until a couple of days later, when the egg begins to hatch. They stare in awe, accompanied by Annie, wondering and a little nervous as to what they might be about to see.  
  
They're stunned by the revelation, but not entirely overwhelmed when the tiny baby manages to push its way out of the fragile shell.   
  
After all, if vampires, werewolves, and ghosts exist -- why not dragons?


	30. Flea Collar

Mitchell doesn't say anything for a little while, just pretends he doesn't notice the way George keeps shifting in his seat and occasionally scratching when he thinks no one's looking.  
  
Finally, he can't quite suppress his soft laughter.  
  
" _What_?" George demands, defensive.  
  
"Got a problem, mate?"  
  
"I just scratched myself up a bit in the woods last night is all," George sullenly insists. "They should make clothes in werewolf sizes."  
  
Mitchell nods as if accepting that for a moment, his mouth twitching as a rather cruel but hilarious idea occurs to him. His tone is mild when he ventures to speak.  
  
"You're, ah... sure that's all it is?"  
  
"Well, what else would it be?"  
  
"I don't know." Mitchell shrugs. "How would you know? You were in your wolf form all night, yeah? So... maybe you rolled around in some poison ivy, or... or maybe you ate something you're allergic to, or... or something else..."  
  
"Or what something else?" George actually sounds a little concerned now, frowning as he gives Mitchell his full attention. "What do you think I should do?"  
  
"Well..." Mitchell doesn't look up, measuring his tone as he delivers his punchline. "... they _do_ make special collars for that. Kill the little buggers dead."  
  
Mitchell can't hold back his mildly malicious giggles as George stares in offended understanding before muttering a half-hearted, "I hate you," and making his way into another room where he can scratch himself in peace.


	31. Sensory Overload

They have something in common -- many things, actually, but one in particular that stands out to them in the midst of these moments.  
  
Each of them has senses not possessed by mere humans, and human senses that are enhanced by their supernatural states.  
  
The scent of George's blood pounding within his veins calls out to Mitchell as he lies over his lover's body, resisting the temptation to draw it from him like the soft, keening moans that he tears from George's lips. He settles for a sharp bite to his shoulder with blunt, human teeth, relishing the whimper of mingled pleasure and pain with which George responds.  
  
George can smell the thick, heady scent of Mitchell's arousal, knows how badly the other man wants him -- how desperately he's fighting to hold back the most basic of his instinctive desires -- and that knowledge is nearly more than he can bear. George rolls them over so that he hovers above his friend, letting out an animalistic snarl as he returns the love bite with one of his own -- and is nearly driven mad by the resulting rush of need he senses pouring off of Mitchell's cool, trembling body.  
  
It's the sweetest sensory overload, and neither man can stand it -- but neither man wants it to ever end.


End file.
